A Murder of Crows
by Pozzo
Summary: A troubled young man discovers a Vigor... and quickly gains a flock of new friends.
1. Part 1

Mr. Abernathy took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He did this whenever he became frustrated, which happened a lot with Edward.

"Again"

Edward swallowed, took a deep breath, and recited:

"A P-party of Peafowl, A Gag…a gag…a gag-"  
"A Gaggle of Geese, Edward" said Mr. Abernathy, rubbing his eyes again. "A Party of Peafowl, a Gaggle of Geese. Again."  
"Y-yes Sir" said Edward, looking down at his lap. He was sweating, which he did whenever he was nervous (and he was always nervous) which made his spectacles slide down his long nose. He pushed them up and began: "A Party of P-peafowl…a Party of…A par-"

"Enough." said Mr. Abernathy, pressing a button on the Voxphone. The recording disc clicked and stopped spinning. "That will be all for today, Edward."  
"Yes, Sir" Edward said, brushing the hair out of his eyes, "Th-thank you, Sir" He stood up too quickly and tripped over his chair, stumbling into Mr. Abernathy, who dropped the Voxphone, which promptly smashed into several dozen pieces. Edward immediately fell to his knees and began scooping up the remains, "Oh my goodness I'm so sorry Sir please-"  
"E-NOUGH" Mr. Abernathy shrieked, storming from the study, leaving Edward with the ruins of the Voxphone. His shouts echoed through the house, "Hopeless. Utterly HOPELESS."

Edward scrambled to his feet and flew after him, knocking over a lamp in the process. "Please Sir I didn't mean it Sir!" The commotion had caught his mother's attention. She swept into the entrance hall just as Mr. Abernathy was shoving an arm into his coat.  
"What on earth-?" she began.  
"Mrs. Crowley" he fumed, "I have done all I can do. I have tried time and time again to cure your son of his vocal affliction. It has been over a month, and the boy can't even master simple recitation. I am afraid my services will not be sufficient."  
Edward stood in the shadow of the hall, his eyes turned down to the floor. His mother looked at him, then back at Mr. Abernathy. "I…I don't understand, you said you could help-" she reached for her purse, "Please, I can pay you-"  
"Mrs. Crowley, to put it simply:_ Your son stammers like a negro_, and there is naught I can do for him. My firm suggestion is that he simply keep his mouth shut, and spare this good city his stupidity." He took his bowler off the hook and shoved it on his head. "Good day." Mr. Abernathy slammed the door behind him, leaving Edward and his mother alone. He said nothing. She didn't even look at him.  
"Twenty-three" she said through pursed lips. "Twenty-three years old and you stammer like a child. What girl in her right mind would even _think_ of courting such a pathetic excuse for a man? I thank God in Heaven that your father isn't here to see what a disappointment you've become, Lord rest him."  
"I'm s-sorry, mother…"

"You're always sorry," she said, opening the front door. "Go. I don't want you in this house until supper. Go outside and at least try to make some friends."  
"Yes, mother." He said, stepping miserably into the sunlight.  
"Friends," she said, closing the door behind him, "The only way you'll make any friends is if they fall out of the sky"


	2. Part 2

Edward Crowley did not like people. It's not that he thought they were particularly revolting or evil, he simply didn't understand them. They were as a foreign to him as the world below Columbia. As a boy Edward had read stories about people, good people like Father Comstock or The Founders; people who only wanted to help and make things better. Edward thought that everyone should be that way; then the world would be a better place to live.  
But then he met people.

People, he learned, are not kind. People are not honest and caring. People are not heroic and brave like Father Comstock. _People_, he decided,_ are Dimwits_.

It was a cool day. The sun was shining in a bright blue sky, with fat white clouds floating lazily above him, and a gentle breeze . Edward hated it. Every day in Columbia was bright and sunny and cheerful. It seemed so unnatural. Edward wanted rain clouds, he wanted a reason to stay inside.

He decided to go to the Memorial Gardens, at least there he wouldn't be bothered by anyone. No one looked his way or said 'Good Day' as he trudged along the street. No one ever did. They thought he was strange, they thought he didn't hear them whispering behind his back, or maybe they just didn't care. Either way, he was content to be left alone, and people were happy to do so.  
"Hey fellas! Look who it is!"  
Except Johnathan of course.  
"It's Creepy Crowley!"

A flock of young men approached him. Laughing. Always laughing. They were lead by Johnathan. He and Edward had grown up together, they had gone to the same school, their parents attended all of the same parties, they even lived on the same street. And yet the two could not be any more different. Johnathan was handsome, charismatic, well-liked by everyone. He had a way of getting people to do whatever he wanted, and that often included tormenting Edward.  
"How're ya doing, sport?" Johnathan said, slapping Edward hard on the back and knocking off his glasses, "How's tricks?"  
Edward knelt down to pick up his glasses, but he couldn't see them. Then he heard a sickening _crunch_ nearby. One of the boys must have stepped on them. Edward moaned. Johnathan just laughed.

"Tsk. Tsk. Oh, Davy look what you did" he said, "I'm _real_ sorry about that, Crowley. Really I am. Here… let me give you a hand _up_"  
"N-no!" was all Edward had time to stammer out.

There was a crack like thunder, and the world suddenly rushed out from underneath him. Gravity had forgotten itself. Edward was dangling in the air like a puppet, except there weren't any strings. The world was upside down, his coat and tie hanging down over his face. The blood was rushing to his head. He couldn't see. All he could hear was the laughing, pounding in his ears. Then he heard Johnathan.  
"There you go, pal! Hope you like it up there." he said, laughing harder than the rest. They began to walk away. "C'mon boys, let's check out the fair. And Crowley-" he added, spinning around to face him, "- say hi to the birds for me"


	3. Part 3

Edward trudged along the street, leaving a trail of little red drops behind him. When the Bucking Bronco had finally worn off, he fell flat on his face. Now he had two black eyes and blood was pouring from his nose. He couldn't go home… that would mean facing his mother. Nor could he stand to be around people… their eyes…their whispering…their laughter… So much sound and fury ringing in his ears, and the the sunlight piercing his skull and boring into his brain. He wanted it all to stop. He wanted to scream and claw and bite and rip until there was nothing left of Johnathan or Mr. Abernathy or his mother.

He looked up to see where his feet had taken him. _Of course_, he thought, the same place he always found himself. Memorial Gardens. The one place no one would ever bother him. Hardly anyone ever came to the Gardens, except to visit Lady Comstock, or to lay some flowers on a grave. But there weren't that many graves in Columbia. The city was still young, it hadn't had enough time to lay it's dead to rot in the sunshine.

There was also the problem of costs. Whomever had built the floating city hadn't accounted for burial space. The cost of burying a loved one in the earth was astronomical, but there was plenty of room in the sea below… and the furnaces were _always_ burning. Edward liked to think that the city kept itself afloat on a belly full of corpses.

Today the Gardens were completely empty. Everyone was at the fair. There was no sound except the rattling of trees. It was strange though…as Edward stepped carefully through the Gardens, he had this terrible feeling that he was being watched… He could feel eyes on him. Something was there. Watching. Weighing him. Something cold and calculating. Something _old_…

He could have spent more time considering this had he not walked straight into an open grave.

Suddenly his eyes and mouth were filled with dirt. Luckily the earth was freshly dug, so the ground was soft. He rolled onto his side, coughing and spitting, tasting nothing but dirt and blood. For a few panicked moments he thought he had broken something, but after a moment realized that he had simply landed on a rock. He stood up, brushing himself off, cursing his luck.

That's when he looked down and saw what he had landed it on.

It was a bottle. A strange bottle, though he recognized it. It was shaped like bird. _"Murder of Crows"_ read the label. A Vigor. He had seen the advertisements everywhere: _"Proven deterrent against hooligans!" _Edward had never actually used a Vigor, though he knew how powerful they could be. He touched a hand to his swollen nose where the blood was caked and dried, and thought of Johnathan.

He turned the bottle over and saw a small note tied to the neck with a piece of string. It read:

_Hamish,_

_ Little basterds been sneeking in to fuck around at nite. This ought put them right. -Pat_

Beneath the note was a label with instructions:

_One mouthful will show immediate results. Do not exceed recommended dose._

Edward sat there considering the bottle for some time. He peaked his head out from the grave a few times to check if he was still alone. No one in sight… He unscrewed the cap and sniffed at the liquid inside. It smelled strangely like some sort of liquor. He considered putting the bottle down and walking away…but every time he started to put it down he saw Johnathan's face…laughing, sneering at him. Finally, he pressed the bottle to his lips and swallowed a mouthful…

Nothing. It tasted like licorice. A few moments passed. Still nothing. What had he done wrong? He held up the bottle to re-read the label.

That's when a single crow swooped down from the sky and landed on his arm. It was so sudden that he practically jumped out of his skin.

"Oh! Oh my… h-hello there, little f-fellow..heh" Edward said. The crow turned its head to look at him. It's eye was a deep crimson, with veins of black creeping in at the edges. It looked old; large for a crow, and some of it feathers were sticking out at odd angles. The mangy thing looked as though it had been through a hurricane and back. It just kept staring at him, which made him nervous. Edward took a few slow breaths to calm himself and realized that the crow was breathing _with_ him. If he held his breath, he could feel its heart beating in time with his. Strangely, he found this comforting. He worked up his courage and gingerly ran a finger over its crown and along its spine. The crow did not resist. It stood there calmly, allowing Edward to pet it.  
"S-so this is all I g-get, huh?" he said, gently stroking its beak. "One ratty old cr-crow?" He almost laughed, but decided against it. It was time to get himself out of the hole before the gravedigger came back. He crammed the bottle into his trouser pocket and was about to shoo the crow off of his arm when it suddenly flew off, almost as if it knew what he wanted it to do.

When Edward finally scrambled out of the hole he found his new friend sitting atop the gravestone. It looked at him, cocking its head back and forth as if sizing him up; deciding whether to stay or go. Edward held out his hand. The crow looked at him for a moment longer, then hopped from the gravestone to his hand with a flap of its wings. It was the first time in Edward's life that another living thing had chosen him…it made him so incredibly happy, and at the same time so terribly sad.

"Thank you.." he said, "What shall I call you? Do you have a name? How about-" he stopped himself. He realized that for once he wasn't stammering. Mr. Abernathy would be beside himself. Edward was starting to like his new friend. The crow needed a name… Edward looked at the inscription on the gravestone. He liked it…but he wasn't sure if it was a boy's name or a girl's name. Then again, he wasn't sure if the crow was a boy or a girl…

It was decided.

"I'll call you Lutece" he said. The crow looked at him for a moment and let out a great deep _KAWWW!_ which was answered from above. Edward looked up and saw hundreds of black eyes staring down at him. There were so many of them that looked as though the trees had sprouted feathers. They were all crowing and cawing. He didn't know how, but he knew that they were calling his name.

Edward smiled.


	4. Part 4

Strange things were happening lately, and Johnathan found it rather annoying.

First was the incident at the fair: Some lunatic had opened fire on a crowd during the raffle. Luckily, Johnathan and his pals had been busying themselves with a couple of ticket girls behind the fair grounds. It wasn't until after it was all over and the boys were zipping their pants that they even knew what happened. The psycho, whoever he was, was gunned down by the police. The papers ran a story, and then it was if it never even happened. Soon everything went back to normal. At least for a little while.

Then the birds started going missing.

At first, no one could quite put their finger on it. _Something_ was off. Some part of their day-to-day lives just didn't seem right, as if someone had turned off the background music to the moving picture. Slowly, everyone began to figure it out: _The Birds,_ they whispered,_ The Birds are gon_e. Simple as that. Vanished. And no one had the first clue as to why. "Could've migrated down to the mainland," his father said over breakfast one morning, "Lord knows why..." Johnathan didn't care one way or the other. What did it matter to him where the things decided to shit? It was one less nuisance to deal with. Either way, he wasn't going to let it bother him. He had better things to do. Pulling on his coat and hat he checked himself once, twice in the mirror, and stepped out.

For once it was cold and gray outside. Johnathan snorted; Even The-Greatest-City-In-The-World hadn't managed to avoid a few rain clouds it seemed. No matter, his business was with the lads at the Blue Ribbon. All of the recent annoyances had put him in need of a drink. His steps echoed off of the cobbled streets as he hurried down the lane to the restaurant. The cold was oppressive, sinking in through his coat and gripping to his ribs. He pulled his collar up and folded his arms, quickening his pace. For the life of him he couldn't shake the horrible feeling that he was being followed. He kept glancing things out of the corner of his eye. Black shapes creeping at the edge of his vision. But every time he turned to look there was nothing there. Nothing but shadows.

The boys didn't have his drink waiting for him like usual, which annoyed him. Everyone seemed to be trying his patience today. He sat down at the bar and looked at them with a smile warmer than the sun. "Evening gents!" His voice rang clearer than a church bell. "Barkeep, one scotch please" he said, giving them a wink, "Neat."

The boys didn't say a word. They knew to just sit and listen, staring into their glasses. That's the way Johnathan liked them best. He found that when they had something to to say, it wasn't worth hearing. And they certainly didn't want to make him angry. Not Johnathan.

"So," he said, clapping one of them hard on the back, "Have I got a real gut-buster for you boys! So I'm rolling on down to Amelia's the other day-" he stopped, staring into the long mirror that ran the length of the bar. There was someone outside, watching him through the window.

He turned. No one.

"So...so I'm going to Amelia's the other day..." He forgot what he was going to say, then remembered, then decided he didn't care about telling the story anymore. Instead he said nothing, staring into his glass. With a flick of his wrist, he threw back his scotch, pulled on his coat, grabbed his hat and walked out the door.

"You okay Johnny?" one of them said. Stan, maybe. He didn't care; after a while they all begin to sound the same. He didn't find a single person on the streets. It looked as though it could start raining any minute, so he ducked through an alley for a shortcut. Reaching into his jacket he drew out a flask of Bucking Bronco and drained it, just in case. With all of the strange happenings recently, he couldn't be too careful.  
"Hello, Johnathan" came a voice from behind him. He spun around and snapped his fingers, sending a wave of energy blasting down the alley. The air was hung full of trashcans, boxes, bottles... but there was no one there.  
"Behind you."  
Johnathan whipped his arm around, sending another frantic blast in the opposite direction. No one.  
"No, _behind_ you."  
He had had enough. The alley flew apart on either side of him as he blasted wave after wave in all directions, tilting the world upside down until everything was frozen in the air around him, like a dream. Now he heard footsteps. Someone was moving toward him. The garbage hanging in the air blocked his vision, he could only catch glimpses of movement. Any second now they would be upon him. He pushed as hard as he could, but the Bucking Bronco had worn off. Gravity took hold of the world, and everything came crashing back down. Johnathan looked back and forth, but there was no one there. He was alone.  
"Up here," said the voice above his head. He looked up, and his brain couldn't quite understand what it was seeing. There above him, hanging by his knees from the fire escape was Crowley... and he wasn't alone. He was surrounded by crows. Hundreds of them, perched on the rooftops, the windowsills, the clothes lines... none of them making a sound. It looked as though the sky was being eaten by black birds, and there was Crowley in the middle of it all...grinning and dangling from the fire escape like a child on the playground.

"Hello old sport!" Crowley said, pulling himself up to sit on the landing. There was something different about him...an edge to his voice that had never been there before. And he looked thinner...lankier, if that was even possible. "How's tricks?" he said. The crows began cawing _"Tricks! Tricks! Tricks!" _Crowley beamed. "I've been teaching them how to talk," he said with a smirk. It made Johnathan want to knock his teeth in, but he was hanging just out of reach. How did he get up there so fast? Crowley licked his lips, "And they've been teaching me." Johnathan was tired of listening to him talk. The sound of his voice was like nails dipped in oil and ran over a chalkboard. It made him crazy.  
"I bet you think you're really funny" Johnathan said looking up at him, "Come down here so I can show you how funny you really are, Crowley." That wiped the smile from his face.  
"My name is Edward" he said flatly, "Though I don't think I've introduced you to my friends. This is Lutece..." he said, nodding his head towards a particularly haggard crow perched on his shoulder, "Lutece, I'd like you to meet _Johnathan_." This had woken up something in the birds. They began screaming his name, "_Johnathan! Johnathan! Johnathan!" _He couldn't ignore the rage in their voices, becoming suddenly aware of just how many there were. Crowley looked down at him and cocked his head to one side, then the other. "Everyone," he said, "Say hello."  
There was a roar of a thousand wings beating the air, and they were on him; hundreds of beaks ripping into him like jagged razors, claws digging into his skin like needles. He could only scream and piss himself. They took his eyes; beaks punching through his eyelids like tissue paper. He saw his lights go out, and then felt hot blood running down his cheeks.

In his last agonizing seconds, Johnathan only heard laughter.


End file.
